Occultum Domum
by BB Rosie
Summary: Hermione investigates what causes two Veelas to fall seriously ill. The only problem? One of them is Malfoy, who seems to think she is his mate. With the help of her muggle sister, Pansy, Hermione must unearth the secrets that revolve around the Veelas, whilst surviving as the mate of a lethal creature who loathes her.
1. Chapter 1

**Pansy is a muggle. This fic is alt. universe and non-canon. It's based on folklore of the Vila (Veela source material in which JKR based the creatures on). This fic is semi-dark, and is not about loving Veelas who would do anything for their mates. Please, proceed with caution. If you don't like any of what is stated above, there are many Veela stories out there that have romance and fluff and canon material.**

AN: This is an adopted fic from a retired ff writer. Will not have the original author's OC in it; that character will be replaced by Pansy, and rewritten to fit the canon character. This is approved by the original writer.

'Hermione is urgently summoned to examine the admission of two ailing Veelas, not aware that the very moment she steps foot into the Restricted Room at St Mungo's, her life would never be the same again.'

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

Narcissa Malfoy's face was taut as she quietly closed the bedroom door behind her, an anxious looking Mediana Zabini standing in the corridor awaiting an update.

"It's worse than we thought," Narcissa spoke quietly, her voice thick with the tears she held back. "He hasn't woken in six days now. He hasn't even stirred."

"Blaise is too poorly to leave the bed," Mediana sighed, her brown eyes filled with pain. Evidently just returning from visiting her sick son in the adjacent bedroom. "We must do something, Narcissa."

"You know our laws," Narcissa whispered, her anguished blue eyes flickering around the white corridor of Malfoy Manor, ensuring that they wouldn't be overheard by her husband. "We cannot allow intervention from outsiders."

"Intervention?" Mediana scoffed indelicately. "The Healers and Ministry can assist us. They may be able to bring our sons back to full health, Narcissa."

"You know that is highly improbable, Mediana." Narcissa shook her head lightly, her blue orbs watering slightly as her emotions washed over her. "Even if we alerted the Ministry and St Mungo's of our sons' conditions, it will not save them."

"You would rather we let them die?" Mediana hissed, her pain morphing into misdirected anger. "We should let them rot in their beds and do nothing?"

"That is not what I want," Narcissa whispered, her voice expressing the hurt at Mediana's accusation. "If we take them to St. Mungo's, we will be betraying the law of the Veela. You know that, Mediana. Draco and Blaise … The only hope we have is to locate their mates."

"Draco's twenty-sixth birthday is only two months away, Narcissa." Mediana seethed, her eyes darkening as her Veela-side threatened to take over. "It is very unlikely that he will find his mate before that day. He will die."

Narcissa leaned back against the wall as she sighed deeply, considering revealing their secrets to the Ministry of Magic, thereby breaking the Veela laws, in order to be presented with a small chance at saving her son's life.

"Do what you wish," Mediana drawled, regaining her aristocratic composure. "I will take Blaise to St. Mungo's. His birthday is a mere four months away, and I will not allow him to become comatose like Draco. I will not allow my son to wither away. The laws be damned! My son is more important."

Two tears escaped Narcissa's anguished eyes as she pursed her lips, nodding slowly.

Their sons were more important than the laws of the Veela.

* * *

Newt Scamander reclined in his chair as he tore off the St. Mungo's wax seal on the thick envelope. His weary eyes struggled to remain fully open and alert as he removed the cost-effective parchment from the envelope, unfolding it clumsily as sleep threatened to take him. As the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, his workload was challenging on a good day. So, with the brief sabbatical of Hermione Granger – the head of the 'Being Division' – he had acquired her workload in addition to his own, adding lines to his already aged face.

Suddenly, however, Newt's eyes widened, his jaw almost dropping to the tacky carpet as he swiftly read the letter in his hands.

 _Mr. N. Scamander._

 _Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._

 _It is with the greatest of urgency that I, Healer Miriam Strout, write to you in regards to the recent admission of two critical patients into the Magical Creatures Ward at St. Mungo's. These two classified patients are exhibiting similar symptoms and concerns as the creatures currently cared for at Occulta Domum._

 _The two patients are of high-profile in the Wizarding World, therefore the details expressed in this letter will be kept to a minimum in order to protect their privacy, in the chance that it falls into the wrong hands._

 _We require your urgent attendance at the Magical Creatures Ward (specifically, the Restricted Room), as well as the head of the 'Beings Division'. The two Veelas admitted are in critical need of examination and treatment, however we are unable to ascertain what is to be administered given the limited knowledge of their species._

 _Anxiously awaiting a response,_

 _Healer Miriam Strout._

 _Head Healer of the Magical Creatures Ward and Keeper to the Restricted Room._

.

Newt Scamander dropped the parchment onto his desk, rubbing his hands over his weary face as guilt washed over him at his ensuing action.

"Ms. Patil," Newt beckoned, his receptionist immediately stepping through the ajar door to his office. "Locate and contact Ms. Hermione Granger at once. We require her urgent return from sabbatical."

Padma Patil nodded her head once before dashing out of the office, swiftly following her orders.

* * *

An overwhelming wave of familiarity washed over Hermione Granger as she sat in the stiff chair in the conference room, the sound of quills scratching parchment and officials clearing their throats absentmindedly singing like comforting music to her ears. Her fingers tapped against the wooden table top of the large circular desk, her wild curls tied into a stern bun at the nape of her neck. Her pencil skirt and white blouse – correction: Pansy's white blouse that she 'borrowed' – felt like a second skin to her as she awaited the meeting to commence, feeling utterly at ease in her natural habitat. The workplace.

Although, in saying that, this was hardly her usual workplace. Currently, Hermione occupied the conference room on the fourth and half floor of St Mungo's, surrounded by Healers that were privy to the classified information that was about to be discussed. Only one other Ministry official sat at the table, and that was Newt Scamander, Hermione's direct superior.

It was only two days after the arrival of her summons letter that Hermione had eagerly returned to work, sitting at the circular table awaiting the information to catch her up to speed on the latest crisis. Ron, Ginny and Harry had opted to continue their travels around the world when Hermione had announced her premature departure. Pansy, however, decided to travel back to London with her sister, claiming that she had grown weary of the constant drinking and was also eager to return to work. A blatant lie, Hermione knew.

It was obvious that Pansy was merely desperate to return home to pursue her young relationship with a Public Relations Representative ten years her senior. Hermione resisted the urge to scoff. It was hardly surprising that Pansy used her attractiveness to lure unsuspecting, but well connected, men into her clutches, only to draw out her desired information for her column and toss them away when she was finished.

Her sister, ladies and gentlemen. If their appearances alone weren't enough to demonstrate their stark contrasts, their personalities would certainly do the trick.

"Before we begin," Healer Strout began, her rectangular spectacles positioned mid-way down her thin nose. "I would like to thank you all for responding to the urgency of our request, and apologise for any inconveniences this may have caused you."

A few murmurs and nods of the heads occurred in response to the head Healer's opening statement, everyone evidently wishing to dive straight into the juicy stuff.

"As you all know," Healer Strout continued, "Level four and a half of St. Mungo's serves as the Ward for magical creatures under the division of 'Beings'. This includes goblins, house-elves, hags, werewolves and vampires. Now, after the admission of two patients a few nights ago, this Ward is open to Veelas for the first time in St. Mungo's history."

"It is common knowledge," Newt Scamander explained, "that the Veela are a very secretive species. Therefore, the knowledge of them in the Wizarding World is extremely limited. In saying that, we are, to some degree, aware of their bonding rituals and extent of their dependency on their mates."

"At present, the literature we have found detailing the Veela transformations is minimal. Many field researchers that studied the species found themselves lured by the Veela, only to die a slow and painful death, for which there was no cure discovered. Since the last Veela researcher, Nyle Minger, fell victim to the 'Veela Curse' six hundred and seventy-two years ago, no other has attempted to learn the secrets of the species."

Hermione listened attentively as both Newt and Healer Strout took turns in explaining the mysterious species, despite already learning this information during her studies years ago. Her interest and curiosity was only increasing as they reiterated knowledge that she possessed, eagerly awaiting the problems to be presented, thereby providing her with a challenge.

"What is a 'Veela Curse'?" A nurse asked, his expression dubious.

"The 'Veela Curse'," Hermione answered automatically, "is when a Veela bites a human, muggle or magical, infecting them with their venom. Once the venom has entered the bloodstream, it is required henceforth to sustain life. If you, for instance, were bitten by a Veela, your body would require their venom constantly throughout the remainder of your life. If the Veela chooses to not provide you with the venom, your body would slowly deteriorate, essentially dying a very painful death over the span of eleven days."

"I thought Veelas only bit their mates?" another nurse asked.

"Veelas will and can bite anyone they so choose to," Strout answered, her eyes glistening in approval at Hermione. "However, when they are bound to their mates, they cannot bite another. We do not know if this is Veela law to ensure faithfulness, or if they are physically incapable of administering a bite to someone who is not their mate, while bound."

"Which brings us to the issue at hand," Newt spoke, medical staff at the table scribbling notes frantically. "The two Veela that have been administered to the Ward are in critical conditions. Their identities are to remain classified."

A murmur spread through the health and ministry officials, all agreeing to the confidentiality of the Veelas' identities. It was part of their oath, anyway. The ethical oath that was taken upon entering into their respective careers.

"The two Veelas are Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini." Strout spoke in stern tone as gasps erupted around the room.

Hermione's eyes widened into brown saucers as her mouth dropped open, somewhat resembling a stunned fish. Her excitement and academic interest soared within her violently, but a flicker of justice burned inside of her. The joy she felt at Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and 'Pureblood' Prince, being only half-human was indescribable. But very unprofessional, so she quickly composed herself.

"Mr. Malfoy, at present, remains unresponsive as he appears to be comatose." Strout continued once the residents of the room seemed to come out of shock and awe. "Mr. Zabini is ailing also, however his condition is yet to worsen to the same degree of his fellow Veela."

"Have we determined the cause of their conditions?" Hermione asked, her tone professional, laced with mild interest.

"Not of this moment, no." Newt responded, his aging face looking wearier by the minute. Hermione would assume that he had spent very little time the past few days sleeping. Instead, he would have fervently researched the species, attempting to the pin-point the exact cause for their critical conditions.

"This is where we are most perplexed." Strout began, her tone as stern as her stony eyes. "The two patients are exhibiting symptoms that usually occur after a Veela comes of age – twenty-six years old – and has yet to bond with his mate."

"How old are they?" A nurse asked, her brows furrowed as she ceased scribbling notes momentarily.

"Both Veelas are twenty-five years of age," Newt answered, glancing at the parchment of information on the table before him. "Mr. Malfoy is two months away from his twenty-sixth birthday, and Mr. Zabini is four months away from his date of birth."

"But," Hermione frowned, "they are not of age. Yet, they are showing symptoms that occur after they come of age … Premature self-destruction."

"It appears that their bodies have prematurely enacted the process, as neither Veela has found their mate. This is the first case of its kind to our knowledge. Their mothers, upon admitting the patients, stated that nothing like this has happened to Veelas before, according to their records."

"What symptoms are they exhibiting in particular?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes filled with curiosity.

"The very same symptoms as the residents at Occultam Domum." Strout answered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows as she fell back in the wooden chair, the entire room filled with silence instantly. That was not a good sign.

Occultam Domum was a top-secret medical house located in the Scottish Highlands, operated by the Department of the Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures. Its residents – or, more accurately, patients – were mostly a variety of sick vampires and werewolves that had yet to find their mates. However, with those species in particular, there was no time limit in bonding with their mates, unlike the Veela.

The medical team at Occultam Domum had been examining, researching and treating the magical creatures that were patients there, but to no avail. For three years their efforts had failed, many of their patients dying in the end. But there was a steady stream of admissions into the hidden castle, their patient-count sitting in the low hundreds at present.

It just didn't make any sense that the creatures at Occultam Domum were exhibiting fatal symptoms, for they did not need their mates to survive. Only the Veela species required their mates in order to live. But there was not one magical creature at the top-secret castle that had found their mate, therefore the Ministry and Healers assumed that it was connected to their ailing health. If only they could figure out how.

All of a sudden, Hermione found herself wishing that she was back in Prague with her friends and nonidentical twin. For, at that moment, her head was spinning in an attempt to make sense of the puzzle.

A puzzle she did not have all the pieces for just yet.

* * *

Blaise sat on the windowsill, his dark eyes scanning the entrance of St. Mungo's Hospice. Currently, he resided in a semi-private hospital room, Draco remaining in a comatose state in the bed on the far side of the room.

Blaise, however, had a glimmer of hope. For Draco had stirred a mere moment ago, at the very same time that Blaise caught of a whiff of strawberries. The diluted aroma merely passed his senses for a second, unable to find it again in the quiet room despite his best efforts. What concerned him, however, was the fact that Draco had frowned and his fingers twitched just as Blaise had momentarily smelled the alluring aroma.

Both Veelas had sensed something, that was for sure. And Blaise just hoped to Merlin that it wasn't a shared mate. For that would be catastrophic.

So he sat by the window, watching as guests and medical staff made their way in and out of the off-white building. Disappointment washing over him as Draco stilled entirely, Blaise smelling nothing but potions once again.

How very strange.


	2. Chapter 2

Exiting her small bedroom silently, Hermione's lips thinned in an attempt to resist the sigh that threatened to escape her. Pansy lay sprawled out on the sofa, drooling all over the upholstery, the stench of vodka invading Hermione's senses. It seemed that Pansy had been out until the wee hours of the morning, 'working' hard. Undoubtedly prowling swanky bars, getting a little too drunk in her attempt to uncover 'scandals'.

Thankfully, however, Pansy had removed her brand-new Louboutins before passing out on the sofa, presenting Hermione with the perfect opportunity of slipping them on before sneaking out of the apartment. While Hermione Granger was never one for fashion or expensive attire, there was no denying that Pansy's patent leather stilettos offered the appearance of professionalism a bit more than Hermione's worn-out ballet flats.

The heels clacked against the floor as Hermione exited the apartment complex, making her way to her usual apparation point; a nearby alleyway. The excitement of her day palpable in her frizzing curls and glistening brown eyes. For today was the first time that Hermione Granger would be admitted into the Restricted Room in order to examine the two enigmatic patients.

The mysterious species of the Veela.

* * *

Despite the wretched pain stabbing at every inch of his body, Blaise's face remained impassive and stoic as he walked toward the window of the hospital room. The growth of his tediousness was becoming apparent, however. His own bed was scattered with literature, Blaise having made his way through the novels within a matter of days.

Wincing slightly, Blaise sat himself slowly at the chair by the window, his dark eyes scanning the entrance path to St. Mungo's. It felt as though every single nerve in his body was under the strongest cruciatus curse ever known to the wizarding world. It was torture, plain and simple. But nothing could be done, Blaise knew. Not unless he found his mate, which appeared less and less likely by the minute. Particularly when you spent your tedious and excruciating final days locked in the Restricted Room of St. Mungo's.

Even if he found his mate, which he doubted very much, would it save him? He didn't know. For his body had already begun the self-deterioration process, despite the fact that he had yet to reach his twenty-sixth birthday. It was something that had never occurred to the Veela species before, to their knowledge. So Blaise had little, if any, hope that his life would be saved. By his mate or the Healers at St Mungo's. For what his body was enduring was entirely unheard of at this age. And it would only worsen, if Draco's current comatose state was any indication of what awaited Blaise.

Suddenly, the faint alluring aroma of strawberries invaded his senses once more. He had not smelled the whisper of the scent in days, but had spent the succeeding time mulling it over in his mind. It had to be his mate, Blaise was sure of it. The hairs on his body stood to attention, his Veela side awakening inside of him, his wings threatening to protrude from his back. But it wasn't strong enough for his Veela to take total control. It was merely a whisper of the scent.

But he smelled it. That was for certain. His brows furrowed as his dark eyes scanned the magical folk that made their way up the path to the hospital entrance. His upper lip curling in distaste as he recognised the Queen Mudblood herself.

Hermione Granger tottered up the stone pathway, her chin raised as she attempted to walk in heels. Blaise knew in that moment, buried underneath the disgust that he harboured for the mudblood, that Granger was the one the scent was attached to. But she wasn't his mate. He felt nothing but hatred when he looked at her. If she were his mate, his Veela side would take over the very moment his eyes connected with her.

A deep growl rumbled through the room, Blaise snapping his undivided attention to his comatose comrade instantly. Only to find that Draco was no longer comatose. He sat upright in his bed, his normally grey eyes as dark as the night sky, his black wings spread forebodingly.

His Veela had awoken.

* * *

Stepping into line beside Healer Strout, Hermione listened intently as her brown eyes simultaneously observed the clipboard in her hands.

"-just informed that Mr. Malfoy has awoken, but remains unresponsive." Strout babbled on hurriedly, her voice hushed as they walked by the nurse's station.

"Unresponsive in what way?" Hermione asked, her eyes fixed on the list of symptoms detailed on the clipboard.

"He is awake," Strout explained, her wrinkles deepening as she frowned. "However he will not verbally respond to the medical staff."

"What about his fellow Veela?" Hermione asked, handing the clipboard back to Strout.

"Mr Zabini has yet to speak to Mr Malfoy." Strout sighed. "He declared that while the Veela is in complete control, there is no point in attempting to reason with him. It seems that Mr. Malfoy's mate is within his vicinity, so his Veela side is in complete control."

"How is his temper?" Hermione asked, her tone professional. If the Veela were known for anything, it was their fierce and ferocious rage.

"Fine. He is silent and unmoving." Strout spoke as they came to a stop at the black door. The entrance to the Restricted Room, guarded by three aurors.

"So he is calm." Hermione whispered, despite the aurors proximity being close enough that they could hear her no matter how quietly she spoke.

"Eerily so," Strout nodded.

Suddenly, a ferocious roar sounded in the room. Hermione could have sworn that the door itself shook as the sound rumbled through the walls.

Not hesitating, Hermione and Strout ran into the room, led by the alert aurors to examine the commotion in the Restricted Room. Her academic interest soaring violently as her brown eyes widened, her curls growing wild with sheer exhilaration.

Hermione's brown eyes scanned the area as the aurors spread out, wands raised and aimed at the Veela standing in the centre of the room. Draco Malfoy stood, head bowed slightly, with his fists clenched as the sides of his tense body. His eyes were shut tight as his muscular bare chest rumbled with a growl, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air inaudibly.

Her mouth dropped open in awe as large black wings protruded from his back, extended widely as his eyelids slowly opened. His head remained bowed, but his seemingly black eyes instantly snapped toward Hermione causing fear to soar through her body. She slipped her wand into her pocket before raising her hands slowly, fully aware that she had to appear as docile as possible when confronted with a Veela. The least threatening she was to the creature, the less attention is would pay her.

However, it didn't seem to have the anticipated affect. Quite the opposite actually.

A fierce roar escaped his throat as he threw his head back, the savageness of the sound reverberating through the room. Hermione shrieked and stumbled back as he lunged at her, hexes flying at the Veela from every direction, but they didn't hit him.

And then she saw nothing.

* * *

Aches and pains plagued his deteriorating body as he sat on the seat by the window, his dark eyes fixed on Draco as he lunged at Granger. Apparently his mate. Blaise felt a surge of pity for his life-long comrade at his mate being a mudblood. Not just any mudblood. _The_ fucking mudblood.

What perplexed Blaise, however, was that he could smell the scent from the mudblood. Strawberries. The scent of his mate, he knew. But he knew that it wasn't Granger. Thank Merlin for that.

His face remained stoic and impassive as the aurors and healers fired _stupefies_ at Draco, but the hexes merely fizzled as they connected with an invisible wall that surrounded him. A ward, of sorts. The Veela, sensing the threat to him and his mate, immediately put up the protective barrier around him, ensuring that nothing would penetrate the ward and harm either him or his mate.

The room was in utter chaos as Draco's wings embraced a wailing Hermione, his teeth sinking into her neck violently as she screamed. And then her screams ceased.

Blaise watched the scene with patience and mild interest, knowing that Draco's venom had silenced the mudblood, binding them. And he knew, from the agony of her screams, that Draco had not utilised the option of pacifying his venom. Draco had intentionally made the bite excruciatingly painful for Granger, alerting Blaise that his friend was entirely aware of who his mate was. And his hatred for Granger was evident in his snarls and growls as her unconscious body twitched in his arms, his teeth penetrating her neck harshly.

The Veela tore his teeth from her neck, releasing his hold on her as she crashed to the floor in a heap, Draco throwing his head back and roaring as blood trickled down his chin. Blaise watched as Draco clenched his fists, his eyes shut tight as strength came back to his body. The sickness leaving him. Draco healing fully as the mudblood lay at his feet unconscious, twitching occasionally as the venom consumed her body. Taking over her wholly.

The binding ceremony was complete.


	3. Chapter 3

Pansy scowled as she unfolded the parchment that had just flew out of the fireplace, promptly smacking her in the face. Another letter from her sister, no doubt. Hermione had not returned home in days now. Pansy was growing more concerned by the minute.

While her sister was undeniably a workaholic, it was unusual for her to be absent for so long. Particularly down to the fact that it was rather uncomfortable to sleep under a desk in your office. But now, Hermione had not returned home in four days. Meaning that her new shoes had not come home either.

Muttering profanities under her breath, Pansy tossed the memo on the coffee table before plopping down the on the sofa. Her mahogany eyes fixed on the simmering fireplace, wishing that Hermione would step through it at that moment, her Louboutins in tow.

Whilst Pansy was definitely longing for her shoes, she was longing for her sister's return even more. For something just wasn't sitting right with her. Something just felt a little off about the whole situation.

Not only had her sister received an urgent summons from work whilst they vacationed in Prague, she had not been around of late. Quite worrisome, Pansy mused. She was definitely suspicious.

Alas, her suspicions were quickly forgotten as her phone dinged, her bestie hitting her up for a night on the town. The prospect of partying the night away washed away her concerns.

* * *

Blaise had now become accustomed to sensing the faint aroma of his mate. Hermione Granger had yet to be discharged from St. Mungo's. Both Veelas in the Restricted Room were well aware of her presence in the building. Her scents invaded their senses at all times. It was hardly surprising that she was admitted into the ward in order to receive treatment for her wound; the bite mark that Draco had left on her neck.

The Healers' attempts to heal the wound, however, were futile. It was permanent and would serve as constant branding on the mudblood. Demonstrating her connection to Draco. His Veela's claim on her could not be healed.

It had been a few days since Draco had completed the binding ceremony with Granger, Draco barely speaking in those days. Blaise didn't press him for information on his coping skills in regards to the situation. He knew all too well just how disgusted Draco was with himself. Draco had simply despised Granger from the moment they met. He had even dreamed of ending her life during the war countless times. Only for it to transpire that she was his mate. Rather a difficult potion to swallow.

Draco attempted to distract himself from the wretched reality of his life now, delving into the collection of literature that their mothers had provided them with. But Blaise was finished with the books. He chose to spend his time at the window instead, watching the people enter and exit the hospice, hoping to catch a glimpse of his mate. He could smell her slightly from the nearby Granger. Obviously Granger wore something that belonged to his mate. Perhaps she remained in frequent contact with the girl.

His thoughts swarmed with possibilities. Granger was obviously close with his mate.

It could be the Weaselette bint. That would be problematic. For one, he recalled reading in the _Daily Prophet_ that the chit had married Potter. And, let's not forget, she was the ultimate blood-traitor. At least she was a pureblood, though. It could be worse. It could be like Draco … a mudblood for a mate. Blaise shivered at the repulsive thought.

It was possible that it was Loony Lovegood. He didn't enthusiastically loathe the girl, he just thought her to be quite strange. She was a pureblood, but of course she was a blood-traitor also. Disgusting. Now that he thought about it, he rather hoped that it wasn't her. The pureblood status alone was hardly enough to remedy her baffling personality. He didn't possess the patience to deal with that. And that was saying something, for Blaise was typically a patient man.

Although, Blaise was not overly concerned. If worst came worst, he could always allow his mate to die once the bonding ceremony was complete. The mate would require him to survive, but it was not the same vice versa.

So Blaise was absolutely certain that Draco was not actively in a rage for he had made the same decision. Now that the bonding ceremony was complete, Draco could merely allow Granger to suffer without his venom. He could allow her to die.

His Veela would feel her pain and yearn to assist her. But he was able to resist the urge to provide her with his venom. He could indirectly kill her, fulfilling his dreams finally.

He would never find another mate. But it hardly mattered. It wasn't uncommon for Veelas to allow their mates to die, sometimes out of hatred, other times out of punishment for betrayal. Whatever the case, now that the ceremony was complete, Draco could let her die.

Blaise was sure that this would occur.

* * *

Gingerly touching the bite on her neck, Hermione's face twisted into a grimace as she winced at the contact. No salves or potions seemed to heal the teeth marks in her otherwise flawless skin, the venom ensuring that the mark was permanent. Just another thing to add to the list of unravelled mysteries of the Veela. A permanent mark on the mate. Branded. Forever.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Hermione rubbed her hands over her face as she reclined in the chair, her exhaustion palpable. She had been branded once during the war, wearing the derogatory term _mudblood_ on her forearm permanently. And now she was branded once more. Unwillingly.

"How are you feeling today, Ms. Granger?" Strout asked, eyeing her solemnly over her thin spectacles.

"Better," Hermione answered cryptically.

The venom had taken over her body completely now, so she was no longer in pain. But the realisation that she was the mate of none other than Draco Fucking Malfoy hardly took away her anguish. It only added to it. So yes, physically Hermione was feeling better. But emotionally? Not fucking likely.

"The patient?" Newt asked Strout for an update, but his eyes of pity were fixed on a weary Hermione Granger.

"Mr. Malfoy has physically made a full recovery, it seems." Strout answered, her eyes glancing at the clipboard on the table before her.

"Physically?" Hermione quirked her brow, picking up on Strout's specific phrasing instantly.

"The patient appears to have made a physical recovery, however we are unable to get close enough to Mr. Malfoy to determine his emotional and mental wellbeing." Strout explained, her eyes averted from Hermione. Causing Hermione to believe that she was about to ask something of her. Something that she may not be overly thrilled about.

"What stops you from approaching the patient?" Hermione asked, keeping her tone as professional and impassive as possible. A difficult task given the fact that her mind was buzzing incessantly with the recent revelations that impacted her life greatly.

"It seems that whenever a staff member nears Mr. Malfoy, his wings extend and he emits a threatening snarl of sorts." Strout elaborated.

"And you think that I will be able to get close to him." Hermione sighed, her fingers absentmindedly touching the bite mark again.

"Yes." Strout nodded. "If you are feeling well enough, that is. I understand if you find that you are not yet able to see the patient."

Hermione pursed her lips, her emotional upheaval and professionalism battling ferociously in her mind. But being Hermione Granger, her logic succeeded her emotions. And it was logical to examine Malfoy in order to gain more information about his condition, as well as her current situation. The more they learned of the species, the more she had to go on. Increasing her chances of finding a way out of this mess.

"All you need is a mental examination of the patient?" Newt asked, realising that Hermione needed time to process the request.

"Yes." Strout nodded once.

"And then the patient will be discharged?" Newt pressed, his sceptical eyes fixed on Strout as she fidgeted with a quill nervously.

"Once we are certain that the patient has returned to his full emotional and mental health, he will be discharged from the Ward."

"To where?" Hermione asked, her narrowed brown eyes assessing Strout's nervous expression suspiciously. "Where will he be discharged to?"

"Occultam Domum." Strout answered, meeting Hermione's eyes as she raised her chin slightly.

"If the patient is no longer showing signs of physical decline, he should be discharged _home_." Newt countered, his weary face showing exasperation.

"Neither the Ministry or St. Mungo's has ever had Veelas as patients before." Strout sighed. "Even if the patients demonstrate a full recovery, it remains our duty to ascertain the causes of their premature deterioration. Their symptoms cohere with the patients at Occultam Domum, therefore it is in our best academic interests to transfer the patients to the location in order to determine the causes for said symptoms. It may assist us in diagnosing and treating the patients at Occultam Domum."

"You think that it wise?" Hermione asked sceptically. "The Veela are very secretive species, Healer Strout. It is unlikely that they will allow us to examine them."

"That is why I have called this meeting." Strout sighed, her weary eyes meeting Hermione's curious brown orbs. "We require your transfer to the location also."

* * *

Clutching the clipboard and quill to her chest, Hermione exhaled deeply before gathering her courage and entering the Restricted Room. Her brown eyes immediately scanned the room, noting that Blaise sat on the chair by the window again, his eyes flickering to her as his nostrils flared. Sniffing the air, maybe. Strange.

Malfoy sat on his bed, a copy of The Crimson Chambers in one hand, his thumb pressed on the page to keep it open as he read. He didn't even glance up as she made her presence known by clearing her throat. He continued to read, his body tensing somewhat as he clenched his jaw.

She noticed, however, that Blaise's dark eyes remained fixed on her as she cautiously stepped toward Malfoy's bed, her brown orbs shining with trepidation whilst she attempted to appear brave and professional. Approaching the bed, Hermione was careful to move slowly, testing the proximity with Malfoy with each step closer to him. She made it to his bedside, a mere seven inches from his body before he finally acknowledged her presence.

"Mudblood," Draco drawled, his grey eyes fixed on the novel. "To what do I owe this displeasure?"

Hermione rolled her jaw, her brown eyes narrowing at him as she seated herself in the armchair by his bed. Crossing her ankles together, she straightened her back and remained composed despite his nasty words. It was difficult to remain professional when the man who bit you a few days ago was so cold and indifferent, while his fellow Veela sniffed the air audibly in her direction.

"I just have to ask you a few questions," Hermione clipped, raising her chin defiantly as he flicked the book shut.

"Do the healers make a habit of sending underqualified minions to conduct their duties?" Malfoy drawled, his steely grey eyes fixing on her flushed face.

"I am hardly underqualified, Mr. Malfoy." Hermione spoke coolly, her jaw clenching slightly as his eyes flickered to her visible bite mark. "Admiring your handiwork?"

"I would hardly use the word _admiring_ ," Malfoy drawled, his upper lip curling in distaste as he met her stare.

"Lovely." Hermione smiled with feigned sweetness. "It appears that we agree on something."

Malfoy merely quirked his brow at her, his cold stare not faltering in the slightest.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked, regaining her professional composure.

"How am I feeling?" Malfoy repeated, his brows raised as he regarded her coolly. "That is your first question?"

"Yes." Hermione clipped, holding true to her academic responsibilities.

While she wanted to bombard him with questions about what the fuck happened the other day, it was not why she was sent into the room. Her personal questions would have to wait until another time, unfortunately.

"I am _feeling_ ," Malfoy drawled, his distaste palpable, "physically healthy."

"Emotionally?" Hermione snipped, scribbling notes on the clipboard. Something along the lines of _still a prat_ , but obviously in more acceptable phrasing.

"Ah," Malfoy smirked, absolutely no humour in the gesture. "Perhaps as emotionally stable as yourself at present."

"So, would you say that you are feeling disgusted?" Hermione prompted, a sickly sweet smile on her face as his upper lip curled. "Perhaps in dire need of an eternal shower to wash away the infection that was forced upon you?"

"On the topic of my venom," Malfoy drawled, his stormy eyes fixed on her defiant expression. "You are appearing a little worse for wear. Well … more than usual."

Hermione clenched her jaw as she narrowed her eyes at him, the rage burning through her body like fiendfyre, tempted to just hex the ferret right there and then on the spot.

"Perhaps you are in need of another dose," Malfoy drawled, his cold eyes scanning her weary face with distaste.

A little concern shining in his grey orbs, momentarily baffling Hermione. And then she remembered, his Veela side would be observing her sickly appearance too. It didn't escape her notice either, that Blaise appeared shocked at Malfoy's implied offer. Strange.

"Once was enough, thank you." Hermione muttered, scribbling down notes again as he continued to assess her.

"You will find that you require my venom a lot more than once." Malfoy smirked cruelly.

Hermione frowned as she looked up at him, her suspicious brown orbs observing his cruel smirk.

"Why would I need your venom again?" Hermione frowned.

"To continue living," Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly.

Hermione thinned her lips as she riffled through her limited knowledge of the Veela in her mind. She knew that Veela venom was required to sustain life if a person was bitten but _wasn't_ the mate. Did that mean … she wasn't his mate? Hope surged through her without mercy, her eyes widening as she was fully submerged in the abyss of relief.

"I'm not your mate," Hermione whispered, her brown eyes glistening with joy.

"Au contraire, mudblood." Malfoy growled, as though angered that she would be happy at the prospect. "You are indeed my mate."

"Then why would I require your venom to continue living?" Hermione scoffed, reanalysing her knowledge of the Veela venom.

"Do you really know so little about my kind?" Malfoy drawled, apparently bored by her presence now. "I was under the impression that you knew all, Granger. It seems that you precious books have failed you."

Hermione, utterly furious, went to respond before he cut her off.

"Our conversation is over," Malfoy drawled, reopening his novel to the page that he left off at. Blaise smirking as he eyed Hermione with palpable distaste.

Sighing, Hermione pushed herself from the chair, grasping the clipboard in one hand as she turned to storm out of the room. But there was just one thing she couldn't let go before she retired for the evening.

"One more question." Hermione said, turning around to face him as he gazed patiently at her. "Why does he keep sniffing me?" Hermione gestured her head toward Blaise as he smelled the air discreetly, his dark eyes fixed on her stilettos.

"Because you are wearing attire that does not belong to you." Draco answered, his tone low and growly. As if he didn't like that she wore another's clothes.

"Whose clothes am I wearing then?" Hermione scoffed, placing her hand on her waist and cocking her hip to the side.

Malfoy merely smirked at her before turning his undivided attention back to his novel, indicating that the conversation was now over.

After sparing one last glance at Blaise, noticing that his upper lip curled in response, Hermione turned and stalked out of the Restricted Room. Her destination firmly in mind as she justified blowing off her duties for the rest of the night. Hermione was in dire need of her sister's company and a little normalcy following her crazy week at work.

A flicker of suspicion in her that her life would only get crazier.

* * *

Hermione was barely able to place the take-away on the kitchen counter before Pansy's body collided with hers, her sister's arms embracing her tightly. Hermione laughed as she shimmied in her sister's hold, moving to wrap her arms around Pansy in return.

"Miss me?" Hermione laughed as they released their holds on one another.

"No," Pansy scoffed, her brown eyes fixing on the pizza boxes. "I missed my shoes."

"About that," Hermione grimaced, slipping off the heels meekly. "Sorry."

"Liar." Pansy frowned, bending down to assess her Louboutins. "Hermi!"

"What?" Hermione blanched, praying to Merlin that she didn't scuff the stilettos. Pansy would be a downright nightmare to be around if she already damaged her heels.

"They're dirty!" Pansy said crossly. "There's red … liquid on them. A few drops here."

Blood. _Her_ blood. From when Malfoy attacked her.

"I was working at the hospital," Hermione dismissed, opening a cabinet to gather two plates. "I'll clean them."

"That's revolting," Pansy said, and wiped her hands on a blanket.

"Pansy!" Hermione scolded, slapping at her sister's hands. "That was grandmother's blanket! Use a tea towel."

"There aren't any," said Pansy, as she went to the fridge to get beer.

"You haven't done any laundry, then?" Hermione sighed, falling into step beside her sister as they made their way to the sofa.

"Nope." Pansy said. She dropped onto the couch before she handed Hermione a beer.

Rolling her eyes at her lazy sister, Hermione traded the beer for a slice of pepperoni pizza.

"So," Pansy prompted, eyeing her sister expectantly.

"What?" Hermione frowned, placing pizza slices on her own plate. Her sister ate the slices straight from the box, thus her plate lay forgotten on the coffee table.

"Did you read my column?" Pansy asked eagerly. "In the paper?"

"No, sorry." Hermione said. Pansy was instantly submerged in disappointment. "Work has been quite demanding lately. I haven't had time."

"Oh," Pansy nodded, forcing an understanding smile. "Well, another time, then."

"What was it about?"

"Brad Pitt cheated on Jen with Angelina Jolie."

"Are they … singers?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

Pansy merely blinked at her sister alien before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"You're weird," Pansy laughed. "So, what about you? What's happening at work that's _so_ important, Hermi?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Pansy found the mysteries of the Wizarding World quite enthralling. Her disappointment at being excluded could be quite obvious at times. At least she wasn't jealous anymore. Pansy had been incredibly envious of Hermione in their childhood when the Hogwarts acceptance letter had come. Thankfully, the jealousy had subsided over the years, but Pansy's interest in Hermione's world had not.

"It's classified," said Hermione.

"Oh." Pansy nodded. "Are you going back in tomorrow? I haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm going in all day," Hermione answered, her head tilting slightly as though pieces of a puzzle began connecting in her mind. "You should come and have lunch with me."

"Sure," Pansy said, glad to have more time with her twin. "Meet you at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Actually," Hermione smiled, "meet me at St. Mungo's. Use the floo network to get there. I'll meet you in the foyer."


	4. Chapter 4

"You can have mine," Pansy said and pushed her plate to Hermione. For some unknown reason, Hermione had bought them both pumpkin pasties in the St Mungo's café. They were smelly, decided Pansy. "I'll eat your chips."

Hermione sighed as her sister presumptuously began to devour the fries on her plate. But, she didn't comment on the muggle's actions. For one, Hermione was quite accustomed to her sister's entitled behaviour. But, more importantly, she felt that perhaps she owed her sister a little leeway, considering the very reason Hermione had invited Pansy to St. Mungo's.

A wave of nausea washed over Hermione. Her lips parted as her fingers suddenly dug into the table and her muscles tightened.

"Hermi?" Pansy's voice sounded out. "Hermi, are you alright?"

Hermione shuddered. Her stomach stirred unpleasantly, like a boiling cauldron of deathly draught. Her body jerked and, from her lips, came the coarse sound of a dry-retch.

"I'll get a doctor," said Pansy as she jumped from her chair.

"No," said Hermione. She held up her hand to halt her sister. "I'm all right. I just felt a little dizzy. That's all. Sit, sit."

Disbelievingly, Pansy slowly lowered herself into the chair. Her eyes scanned Hermione's sickly pale face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine," said Hermione. "Eat the chips."

Pansy smiled and dug into the chips again.

* * *

Draco clenched his jaw as he watched his comrade thunder around the room. The wards containing them within the Restricted Room appeared to anger Blaise's Veela more and more with each passing second. Mighty black wings protruded from Blaise's back as he pounded his fists against the wall, roaring the word 'mate' over and over again. His eyes were as black as his wings – the Veela side had taken over entirely.

Keeping away from the danger, Draco remained seated on his bed. He watched his friend with mild interest from the safety of afar. He knew from experience that, when the Veela took full control due to the proximity of his mate, it was best to let it play out. Nothing and no one could reason with a Veela in this state. So, he merely watched as Blaise repeatedly punched the wall. The aroma had stirred the rage.

To Draco, the scent was faint and unappealing. But to Blaise, the scent was alluring and powerful, drawing him in. Draco just hoped that his friend's mate was a little worthier than his own. A shudder rippled through him at the thought of his mate; bloody Granger. It was too cruel.

Of course, he could always allow the mudblood to wither away. He could refuse to provide her with his venom. But his Veela was strong. For the time being, he would prolong her existence. At least until he came to a decision.

While he had the power to end the life of Granger, thereby freeing himself from the attachment to his unworthy mate, it was a heavy choice indeed, for he would never find another mate. His life would lack something. His Veela would mourn for all eternity.

Draco had not yet decided which fate was worse.

* * *

Healer Strout came bursting through the café doors. She paused and frantically scanned the area until her frazzled gaze rested on Hermione.

"Ms. Granger!"

Hermione and Pansy turned their heads to eye the approaching Healer.

"Ms. Granger," breathed Strout, her eyes wild as she approached the table.

Pansy ran her stare up and down the dishevelled healer as she said, "Yeah?"

Hermione said, "She means me, Pansy."

"Oh," said Pansy, nodding. "My bad."

Strout looked between the sisters hesitantly. "There …" she hesitated. Strout cleared her throat and leaned closer to Hermione before she whispered, "There is an urgent matter in the Restricted Room."

Hermione nodded firmly and rose from her chair. Deflating in her own chair, Pansy drummed her manicured fingernails against the table.

"I guess I'll see you at home," said Pansy huffily, her toffee eyes fixed on the half-eaten chips.

Hermione offered Pansy an apologetic smile before she turned and left with the Healer.

* * *

Hermione stepped into the Restricted Room behind Strout and two aurors. Her brown eyes scanned the area swiftly, her wand gripped tightly in her clammy hand. Her bravery was evident in her raised chin and defiant stance, but her heart was beating a mile a minute. Adrenaline and anxiety soared through her veins just as Blaise flew toward her. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly, and his nostrils flared as he drank in her mixed scent.

She barely had a moment to register what happened. Draco soared at them, a feral roar escaping his lips as his teeth extended and sharpened. He shoved Blaise away from his mate with alarming strength. Blake hurled back across the room and landed on his feet beside his bed.

Draco stood before a wide-eyed Hermione, his wings extended as he snarled at the black-eyed Blaise. The latter continued to sniff the air, a deep growl rumbling through his chest as the Veelas evaluated one another.

"Mine," Draco growled, his tense body trembling with rage.

Blaise snarled viciously. Hermione ducked slightly, and peeked beneath Draco's extended wings to assess Blaise.

The Italian Veela stood in the centre of the room, his dark eyes fixed dangerously on Draco's threatening stare. She noted a hint of desperation in Blaise's dark eyes.

" _Mine_." Draco snarled again.

Hermione's brown eyes widened with realisation as everything she feared was confirmed. Slowly, she straightened herself and placed her palms on Draco's back. A deep growl escaped him at the touch.

"It's ok," Hermione said soothingly.

Blaise curled his upper lip, his teeth elongated and sharp as he snarled. Thankfully, however, he turned and stormed over to the window, placing his hands on the glass as his gaze scanned outside.

Recognising the withdrawal of the threat, Draco lowered his wings slightly, and turned to face his cautious mate with stormy grey eyes. Hermione saw that his Veela side subsided at the retreat of the other. But there was danger still emanating from his eyes.

Stepping back slightly, Hermione attempted to preserve her professional composure unsuccessfully as Draco assessed her coolly. He stepped toward her predatorily, only stopping when her back connecting with the wall. The aurors raised their wands, and aimed them at the blonde-haired patient, prepared to fire hexes the moment Hermione was in danger. But the hexes didn't come.

Draco merely closed the distance between them, his face lowering as his nose brushed against her flushed cheek. He was sniffing her, she realised. Frozen on the spot, Hermione remained quiet as Draco's tongue flicked out over her cheek. His actions utterly perplexed her as well as the other staff members that watched on in confusion and awe. Perhaps fear as well. Strout scribbled down notes on her clipboard, observing the behaviour of the secretive species. Hermione focused on the soothing sound of the quill on parchment.

The touch of Draco's nose travelled further down her face, trailing over her jawline as he growled lightly.

"You are sick," drawled Draco. The growl and low snarl of his voice was absent – the Veela had submitted to Draco within.

Yet, the patient still sniffed and lapped at her. His wings remained extended, shielding her from the vision of the others in the room. His muscular chest was still pressed against her body, trapping her between him and the wall.

"You require my venom," he spoke against her neck, his tone cold and indifferent.

"Malfoy, no –"

Draco growled deeply before his teeth sank into her neck. The sheer agony of the venom blasted through her as a wretched scream ripped up her throat. Her legs quaked and gave out beneath her as the pain consumed her wholly. But, his arms wrapped around her waist tightly, holding her up as he drank from her.

Twitching in his arms, a pained whimper escaped her lips as fire burned through her every nerve ending, her vision darkening as her eyes fluttered shut. But consciousness did not leave her like the last time his venom took hold of her body. She wished she had fallen into unconsciousness, if only to escape the excruciating sensation that plagued her twitching body.

Hermione was so lost in the pain that she didn't even notice the Healer and aurors calling out to her, their hexes unable to penetrate the protective barrier put in place by the Veela within Draco.

Suddenly, Draco withdrew his teeth from her flesh, blood trickling down his chiselled jawline as he growled, his tongue flicking out and cleaning his lips of the crimson liquid. Hermione whimpered as he set to licking her reopened wound, the bite mark healing at the contact. His arms still held her upright as he ceased his ministrations, his heated grey eyes boring down at her pale face intently. Watching as her eyes fluttered open, a groan escaping her parted pink lips from the pain that still buzzed inside of her.

Patiently, Draco waited until the agony dissipated in her body, Hermione's brow furrowing as her legs regained strength. The nausea and agony drifted from her entirely as the venom took its hold on her once more.

Then a fresh wave of sickness washed over her, laced with utter desolation. For, in that moment, Hermione knew. Yes, she knew before. But it was confirmed now. And the horror crashed over her without mercy.

Hermione needed him to survive. Without his venom, she would die.

* * *

Hermione zoned out of the conversation. The voices around her were little more than faint sounds that whispered into her daze. She just couldn't fathom how it had come down to this. The despair of what her life was fast becoming destroyed her completely. Hermione, an independent and strong witch, felt that she didn't know who she was anymore. For she was no longer independent. She was dependent. On Draco Malfoy, no less.

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looked up at the one who spoke. It was Strout, wearing worry in her weary eyes.

Strout added, "Are you sure you do not wish to retire for the evening?"

"I can manage," said Hermione.

"Perhaps it is best that you return home for the night," suggested Newt soothingly, a kind smile on his aged face.

"No." Hermione shook her head. "It's all right. I'm fine."

Newt assessed her with his wise eyes for a moment before nodding.

"As I was saying," Strout continued, regaining her academic tone. "It would be best to introduce Mr. Zabini and his potential mate in a secured environment."

"The Restricted Room is very secure," Newt said.

"Yes, yes." Strout waved her hand dismissively. "What I mean is an environment that will protect Ms. Pansy Granger during the first encounter."

Newt said, "Perhaps if we place wards shielding Ms. Pansy Granger prior to their meeting, it will ensure her protection."

"The wards do not seem to have an effect on the Veelas," Hermione argued. "When their wings are extended, the hexes are futile."

"The wards in place in the Restricted Room serve their purpose. Perhaps we will be able to reduce the area covered to half of the room prior to your sister's entrance. It will ensure that Mr. Zabini cannot cross the threshold and bond with her straight away." Strout explained.

"That is assuming that Ms. Granger is, in fact, Mr. Zabini's mate," Newt countered.

"I hope she isn't," Hermione murmured, rubbing her hands over her face. "But it's looking rather likely."

Strout nodded as Newt agreed, "It would appear so. However, we cannot operate on speculation. The Veelas are patients of ours. They are under our care and protection. If we do not locate the second Veela's mate, and he cannot bond with her, he will die."

"What exactly will be the next step if she is his mate?" Hermione asked.

"Our chief priority is returning Mr. Zabini to full health," Strout answered, averting her eyes from Hermione. "Without the bonding ceremony with his mate, the patient will perish. That is not a fate we can permit for any patient, particularly when it is in our power to prevent it."

"Assuming that Ms. Granger is the patient's mate and the bonding ceremony is consented to and completed," Newt began, his professionalism back in place, "what will be the succeeding step?"

"Mr. Zabini will be transferred to Occultam Domum along with Mr. Malfoy." Strout answered. "Ms. Granger will join them."

"Which one?" asked Newt as he smiled weakly.

"Both." Strout answered. "I cannot claim to be content with permitting a muggle to enter Occultam Domum. Though, I do not see an alternative."

Emitting a weary sigh, Hermione nodded meekly, consenting to the proposition. Her professional duties and vows ensured that she conducted herself in a manner that would protect her patients. But her heart battled that ferociously, her protective side emerging for her sister.

While Pansy was a confident woman, Hermione knew there was so much more to her than that. Not necessarily good traits either. Pansy, underneath it all, was a fragile muggle, particularly when compared to the threat of Veelas and the other creatures at Occultam Domum. Pansy was the exact opposite of Hermione, inside and out. So, Hermione felt a tremendous amount of angst and guilt at the situation she would be putting her sister in. A situation with potentially dire consequences.

* * *

Blaise stood at the window, his wings extended, his eyes as black as the night sky as an animalistic roar tore through the room. His head fell back as he roared over and over again at the scene he was witnessing. The mudblood dragged a beautiful brunette up the stone pathway toward St. Mungo's. The mysterious woman's black hair curtained her refined features, and her deep brown eyes shone with alarm. Blaise knew it instantly. The pretty woman was his mate.

An approving growl rippled through him as his dark eyes scanned the girl. Poker-straight tresses framed her face, large brown doe-eyes sparkled through the distance separating them. Porcelain skin, apparently as flawless as her plump lips. Slender, thin, and tall. He would have to be gentle with his little mate.

Disappointment lit up inside of Blaise, however, despite the Veela taking over him. He knew she was not a pureblood, for he knew all purebloods in Europe. But, in his assessment of her, he concluded that she would be a half-blood. It was better than a muggle-born, that was for sure. Perhaps it wasn't so bad. What she lacked in blood purity, she made up for in appearance. Regardless, his Veela would find her alluring and attractive even if she was a wart-covered hog. Thankfully, both his inner self and the Veela agreed on her attractiveness.

* * *

"Hermi!" Pansy snapped, attempting to yank her wrist from her sister's vice-like grip. "I don't want to! Let me go!"

Hermione huffed in annoyance at her sister's cowardice, frankly quite tired of hauling her through the hospice. Pansy stuck her stilettoes into the ground, the heels scraping against the floor. Her body was curved into a 'c' shape as her sister dragged her through the corridors.

"Hermi, wait!" Pansy shouted, her free hand trying to pry Hermione's fingers from her wrist. "I left my phone in the car!"

"You don't own a car." Hermione huffed, yanking her reluctant sister along. " _And_ we apparated here."

Pansy groaned, her heels scraping along the tiles as she was dragged ungracefully by her determined sister. They reached the corridor, empty and restricted.

"Ms. Granger … and Ms. Granger," greeted Strout with a smile. She stood outside of the Restricted Room, and her smile faltered as she observed Pansy's lack of enthusiasm.

"She's fine." Hermione assured, referring to her sister.

Strout observed Pansy's fear before she suggested, "Perhaps another day, Ms Granger. It seems that your sister may need time to … adjust."

"Yes," Pansy agreed, instantly ceasing her poor escape efforts. "Another time. Sounds wonderful."

Hermione hissed, yanking her sister closer to her. "We'll do it now, Pansy. Stop being a child!"

Suddenly, a feral roar came from the vibrating door in front of her.

Pansy froze. Her wide toffee eyes locked onto the white steel door. Shakily, she uttered, "Fuck that."

Pansy resumed her previous efforts to flee. Hermione rolled her eyes before she aimed her wand at her sister.

"Enough!" Hermione snapped. Pansy tensed at the sight of the wand. "You only have to meet him, that's all! We just need to know if you're his mate. There are wards in place to protect you. He can't touch you. Stay away from the wards, and you'll be fine."

Another roar sounded out. Pansy squealed and pulled against her sister's hold. Hermione smirked before releasing her grip on her wrist. The muggle immediately fell to the ground on her bottom with a slight thud.

"Sorry, sis," Hermione said, waving her wand elegantly. " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

A squeal escaped Pansy's lips as she lifted in the air. "PUT ME DOWN!"

"Nothing's going to happen, Pansy. It's only a meeting. You're working yourself up over nothing." Hermione said as a thin-lipped Strout opened the door reluctantly.

Hermione flicked her wand and levitated Pansy through the threshold.

"Agh!" Pansy squealed and squirmed. "Hermi! Hermi, let me down!"

The door shut firmly behind them. The atmosphere tensed as Pansy was brought back down to the ground. Her heels clacked as she stumbled slightly and regained her balance.

They had entered the Restricted Room.


End file.
